


Werewolf Superman

by Withstarryeyes



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Stiles, M/M, Protective Derek, Realtionship, Romance, Whump, concussion, creature running rampant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 05:35:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11525610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Withstarryeyes/pseuds/Withstarryeyes
Summary: The house was shaking and Stiles could hear glass breaking, shattering into a billion, innocent pieces forgotten as the two wolves fought. Why couldn’t Derek ever just set his pettiness aside and listen for once? Scott was seldom wrong when it came to things and Derek’s stubbornness did little to help except piss Scott off and make Stiles feel all confused about his sexuality.What? Derek’s eyes were pensive in that model, brooding way and they reminded him of Henry Cavill and who doesn’t want to bang a dude that could audition for Superman, win the part, and beat up the previous Superman actors?Stiles was just keeping himself out of a mental asylum by wanting to bang the Big Bad Wolf.





	Werewolf Superman

Stiles is sulking. It wasn’t something he was particularly proud of, to be sat outside the meeting in his jeep with a rage and petty pout that could rival a child. But he was tired of not being included in whatever the fuck Scott decided was important that week.

They were supposed to be blood brothers. They were supposed to live fast and die young. They were supposed to burn out in a fire of glory together cause fuck Top Gun and living without Goose and having to move on with half your soul gone.

The house was shaking and Stiles could hear glass breaking, shattering into a billion, innocent pieces forgotten as the two wolves fought. Why couldn’t Derek ever just set his pettiness aside and listen for once? Scott was seldom wrong when it came to things and Derek’s stubbornness did little to help except piss Scott off and make Stiles feel all confused about his sexuality.

What? Derek’s eyes were pensive in that model, brooding way and they reminded him of Henry Cavill and who doesn’t want to bang a dude that could audition for Superman, win the part, and beat up the previous Superman actors?

Stiles was just keeping himself out of a mental asylum by wanting to bang the Big Bad Wolf.

He had just flipped on the radio, bopping his head along to some guitar solos… okay air guitaring in front of his steering wheel, so immersed he may have bumped his horn but this was a myth that was _not_ to be uncovered, when Derek came out, Scott held up by the back of his t-shirt.

Stiles scrambles out of his seat, trying to puff up his chest and shifting to look at least a little bit bigger than the scrawny ass kid he was.

“Derek?” He growls and the alpha slides his red eyes towards him, “You have something of mine,” Stiles comments and Derek seems to realize he's still carrying Scott, and he drops him to the ground. “Careful, wouldn’t want to hurt your foot with his body.” Stiles mumbles, and offering his best friend a hand up.

“Derek’s coming with us,” Scott mutters, dusting himself off and shooting Derek a look that meant such behavior would not be tolerated again.

“Fine, but just so you know you are not huff, puff, puffing my jeep away, okay, Mr. Scowlface.”

Derek’s claws snick out and Stiles goes pale, “You can have the backseat,” a quick snarl and Stiles is stuttering, “T-the, s-shotgun, you, you, you can have shotgun.”

The whole not talking thing was kinda hot, Stiles couldn’t not admit.

Stiles starts his jeep up to the deafening silence of two egocentric werewolves that can't stop slinging dicks long enough to trust each other.

“How’s Allison?” Derek offers up, his smirk high on his face, his eyes wide with anticipation. The little shit. Scott looks at him, a daring challenge in his eyes and Stiles pulls the jeep over.

“Okay, no. This is my jeep and you will abide by my rules-”

“Drive, Stiles,” Derek roars and Stiles has the gall to look offended for a split second before his head goes bouncing off the seat.

“Okay, driving, driving we shall go, driving we are doing in Stiles’ car that shall remain blood free.”

They get to Scott’s house without any scratches to Stiles’ upholstery and he is very happy about this fact but both Scott and Derek look like they want to murder each other.

“We don’t need you for long, Derek, we just need you to look at some photos,” Scott mentions.

“You’re leaving photo evidence for anyone to find?” Derek quirks a judgmental, thick, sexy eyebrow up at them and Stiles looks away, flushed.

“It’s hidden, I’m not that dumb.”

“Where’d you hide it, Scott. Let me guess the sock drawer.” And well Scott’s got nothing to say against that as Derek strolls through the front door, leaving it open and gaping and framing that perky ass of his.

Stiles has _got_ to get his mind out of the gutter. It’s dirty in there and it’s unwanted and Stiles really doesn’t want to imagine the pain he’d be in from Derek breaking his arm if he were to ask the man out. He’s seen Erica’s lust eyes, he’s seen them and he is _afraid._ She’s not even an alpha!

Stiles shakes himself out of his mental vacation to find himself, alone and outside, _again_ before scuttling quickly into the doorway. You think a bunch of wolves would have better manners than this… okay maybe not but he wished they did.

By the time he reaches the top of the stairs there’s a vase that goes flying past his head, shattering on an old oak table Stiles is sure Scott got from his Dad, a long time ago. “Hey, squishy human here,” he chastises but when he looks really close there’s not two pairs of glowing eyes looking back at him, there’s three and the unnaturally violet ones go lunging for him before he can move out of the way. The thing goes shooting past him as Derek tugs his arm so hard to the right he’s sure the socket is left smoking, armless but when he checks his arm is still attached, if barely.

He looks at Derek as if to ask what _was_ that and like what the _hell was **that**_ because Stiles so close to being done with supernatural creatures that he has 3 fake passports and a train out of this town.

Derek’s eyes roam his body and Stiles fights back a groan at the gaze being so intently on him.

“You okay?” Derek asks and it’s softer than usual, fluffy and not as sour. Now that Stiles thinks about it, Derek has gotten a lot softer, kinder, since the whole pool incident when both of them knew the whole keeping the other afloat thing was less about mutual survival and more about something sparking in the air around them.

“I’m okay,” Stiles swallows and Derek watches his Adam's apple intently, before glancing down the hallway.

“Stiles…” Derek trails off and his heart rate spikes.

“Yeah?” He questions because that opening is vague enough to get his hopes up but Derek just looks to the hand Stiles has wrapped around his arm like an anaconda before letting go so quickly he stumbles backwards, bumping into the wall.

Scott comes bounding around the corner so quickly Stiles can still see the cartoon smoke on the carpet. “What the hell was that?”

“I don’t know,” Derek starts, “But whatever it was it's hunting us.”

There’s a growl, deep and low behind them and the three turn to see the violet eyes surrounded by plush fur and sharp canines. Derek’s growling and Scott’s gone on all fours in the blink of an eye but it’s like the cat has its eyes set on someone else, someone that looks like Stiles and is standing next to Derek.

“Can we move? I’d really love not to become cat food,” Stiles squeaks, clutching his fingers into the fabric of his hoodie but they don’t move quick enough before the cat is on top of Stiles and they go tumbling down the stairs.

To be fair, it’s not as bad of an experience as Stiles is expecting as the stairs bang his bones at the same intensity as the cat’s claws rip into his front.

Derek is waiting for him on the landing and Stiles doesn’t know why for a moment when a wounded howl sends the damn creature skittering away into the depths of the night.

“Stiles,” There’s the soft tone again and Stiles blinks his eyes open to Derek above him.

“When did the world become a Tim Burton film?” He asks because Derek’s eyes look too wide down on him and his arms look too skinny. The world is blurry in a just-sketched kind of way.

“Stiles.” There’s his name again. It sounds far away, too far away to be aimed at him. Who else has his name? It's a bit odd of a name and Stiles has never met another Stiles. That’d be really cool actually.

“Stiles, there is not another one of you here, you dumb ass.” Maybe he’s talking out loud he’s not quite sure. Derek’s face is pinched and he lifts a hand to smooth out the frown, “Sourwolf stop it, you look like someone just gave you a bouquet of wolfsbane.” Stiles said but really _he_ feels like he’s been _hit_ by the truck delivering the wolfsbane.

Derek hauls him to his feet and damn, Superman chill the fuck out. The wood stairs bend in Stiles’ sight. He feels himself sway.  Feels himself drop to the side. Derek is catching him, telling Scott to call his mom and they’re soon in the car.

Stiles falls asleep at some point on the ride there because he goes from trying to pet Derek, “Who is a good wolfy, yes, Derek you are a good wolfy. A good wolfy that cares for me. Derek, Derek, you’re so soft. I want to lick you, you’re so cute.” to waking up in a room with a splitting headache and a feeling that someone hit his ribs with a baseball bat.

“Oh, good you’re awake, now I can exact my revenge for calling me a ‘good wolfy’.”

Stiles turns his throbbing head to the side. Derek’s in the shadows, his body just a profile against the white walls, only a red ominous glow lighting up his cheekbones, even more sharp than when properly exposed, from Stiles’ heart monitors and pulse ox.

“Can we just place that in a concussion box?” Stiles pleads.

Derek looks like he’s contemplating it but he just smiles menacingly and cheerily proclaims, “Nope.”

“I was traumatized, I could not be trusted.”

“So you don’t want to lick me?”

Stiles chokes on the water he grabbed from the bedside trey, “W-what, no.”

“You’re lying,” Derek accuses and Stiles wraps his hands in the blankets, “Which is good because I’d.” Derek moves close to his face, his eyes on Stiles’ cheeks, “Really.” He makes a move towards his jugular and Stiles breaks out into a sweat, “Like. To. Lick. You. Too.” Derek finishes before kissing Stiles’ collarbone and setting off the heart monitors with a groan.

Stiles has got a werewolf superman and how badass is _that_.

“You are never calling me that nickname again,” Derek stops kissing his neck for a moment to mumble that in Stiles’ direction before swooping in for his mouth.

Stiles could get used to this, even if he has to break up a few more, a few dozen more, a few hundred more pissy fights between Derek and Scott. Hell he could get used to this even if he has to stop World War III and has to get injured 50 million more times.

Werewolf Superman is worth it (Derek can pry the nickname from his cold, dead, hands).

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Teen Wolf so I apologize if it's not perfectly polished. However, if you liked it and would like to see more please leave a kudos or a comment. Thanks :)


End file.
